Not quite a poem {?}, but sincerely felt.
Talk about lucky! To be born in the United States
is a big leg up -- all right, half a leg for some --
however we look at it. Yes, we have clean-up
to do. Yes, there is prejudice -- against women,
against people of color, against gays and lesbians,
against -- this is so shameful, it hurts to write --
people with handicaps (never mind the lip service
being paid) or are in other ways 'different'
on the surface. Yes, we are doing harm to our
surroundings. Yes, some of us grasp and cheat.
Some commit crimes, some of them unspeakable.
But with all that, I know of no better place.
Most of us care about our sisters and brothers.
More of us are taking care to take more care
of Earth and ourselves. Not just for us, but
so we can keep caring for others. Be as free of
the kinds of physical and emotional garbage
indulgence dumps on top of the pain and suffering
it is our individual fate to bear. Yes, we are
a nation that believes good will triumph over evil.
Yes, we believe that those of us fortunate enough
to be citizens of a land where faith, hope, hard
work, improving chances and the freedom
to move about and speak out according to our
wishes, and where our privacy will not be violable
at the whim of some faceless functionary,
and where we will not need fear we will be tortured
or subjected to unwarranted searches and seizures
because someone on high tapped a key -- where
we feel we won't starve or be forced to live
in a box or get carted to a mental hospital
in a Stalinesque move -- where these aren't mere
dreams curling from pipes or invading our blood
via needles, pills, or demigods. Yes, we have much
to do to save ourselves and our families from
being victimized in one way or another by
an ever-growing list of uppers and downers.
Yes, we have to convince our leaders to turn
away from war so we can fight drugs and violence
for real. Yes, we have to stop racial profiling.
Yes, we have to reinstall separation of Executive,
Legistative, and Judiciary. Yes, we have to see
that our laws protect us all from abuse, at home
and away. Put meat on bare bone laws enacted by
cynics that only clog the system, if they don't
actually interfere. Budget more for vital services --
clean air and water, flood control, fire and police
protection, child protection, health benefits,
and so much more. Yes, we have the wherewithal.
Just have to see it goes where it ought, not down
into pockets. We are not a people, on the whole,
unwilling to sacrifice. We want everyone to be fed
and clothed and housed. We want to help the sick
and lame. We want justice to be more than a word
in Civics. Am I proud to be an American?
YES!! I grew up on The Fruited Plain and Purple
Mountain Majesty. Saluted our flat-out gorgeous
red, white and blue flag with the stars and stripes.
See in mind's eye the lakes of Minnesota, the bridges
of New York, the vast fields of tall corn in my native
state of Illinois. It would take a book to describe
the wonders we possess. Coming up during the
second world war, I believed the teachers
who told us children that police kicked down
doors in other countries. Never would we have to
worry that men would burst into our bedrooms
and take us away. This is what Our Boys are
fighting for. This is what sets us apart. This
and the Declaration of Independence. Atlantic
to Pacific, Canada to Mexico, we are beyond
rich, we were told. Free in the best sense.
I believed. I believe now. I also believe
that the smaller the world gets, the bigger we
must be within. As individuals, as a nation.
That we must grow so big, we will feel no need
to rattle weapons of destruction or push others
around. That only if we believe -- truly believe --
in individual rights, a free economy, and doing
our duty -- can we help our beautiful America
be all she can be! More beautiful than ever!
To quote Dickens' Tiny Tim,
God bless us, every one!!
My Prayer
Now help me God
And listen well
This secret I'm about to tell
Is not the daily normal strife,
But about the truth of teenage life.
We teenagers think we know it all
We doubt that we will ever fall
But on our knees we find ourselves
On the paths of truth and heaven and hell.
Now the followers will take the path
Where Satan laughs his evil laugh
One more down he seems to say
As he goes looking for more prey.
Now the logical will take the path
Where there you stand as strong as staff
And bow our knees beneath your robe
And do exactly as we're told.
Now God my prayers just begun
We have the moon up until sun
I've got a lot my friend to say
In this bed of which I'll lay.
Now God we still have parents to
They tell us not and what to do
But we don't always listen right
We're all out getting drunk and high.
Cigarettes are a crime too
The ring of smoke that he just blew
I guess it’s just T.V these days
We've all become they're money slaves.
Now let’s not forget those STD's
Where condoms failed to be the sleeve
Mommies and daddies at age of 12
Wow this world is going to hell.
So every day we hear the news
Some drunk boy; hung up on booze
And tons of weed in the back of his car
Who knows who all he's sold it so far.
Now God come on are you kidding me?
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Now whoever knew it'd be so hard
For a teenager who's life's turned into shards?
So listen God and listen well
The secret that I had to tell
Is not about the normal strife
But the truth about a teenagers life.
Viaa Willliams
Morning and I
thresh about,
longing
for long warm
rain
to
quilt.
Cover us to
our necks
with sun-lotioned
hands
to keep us
from getting cold
After shooing
all the goblins out
for good,
shush for us
to sleep as long
as we want. To
dream away sorrow,
anger, and guilt.
Showering tears
oddly console
Just a Shower now and Then
A few of you have commented that 'although' a piece I posted is fiction, the character and-or situation seem real. I can't tell you how much it thrills me to hear this. Literary and mainstream fiction should make us feel that we know the characters and that the things that happen to them, if not actual fact, are entirely believable. To me, great fiction teaches us more about the human condition -- and ourselves -- than nonfiction. I am not saying that I am capable of creating great fiction, only that it is one of my goals. Let me qualify that. If I am ever able to write g o o d fiction, I will be happy. When someone implies that a fiction piece of mine is 'really true ' or that they can tell that the protagonist or some other character is really me, it makes me believe that if I live long enough, I just may reach my goal. Thanks to all of you for all of your comments. S u p p o r t. To those of you who feel that my stories and poems are all about me, all I can say is, W O W. Maybe I really d o understand others at times. Maybe I can come up with characters who come
alive--? Sure as hell am going to try!!
PS: Sorry about the gloomy tone lately. I'll try to wait 'til I have written a new piece that is cheerful before posting again.
B l e s s i n g s!!
'Pea'
At Home with Shadows
Afraid of sleep, the women aims bent and thin
bones around shadows she knows to be tables
and chairs in the light of day. She is aware
that her prowls are meant to chase away things
can't be chased away. Helps, though. Helps
to meander, slippered and thoughtless, to the living
room, switch on cable and watch talking heads
pretend they know it all. 'Times she watches
Cops. The things people do! The things
they say! Makes you laugh until you cry!
Want to know how good you got it, catch
the news. Hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes,
earthquakes, devils posing as human
doing beyond terrible things to children.
Wives hurt husbands, husbands hurt wives.
So-called reality parades without shame.
Switch channels!! Comics help best
when honest. Truth funny, why is that?
Time to prowl some more. Wander into
the kitchen and microwave tea to a boil.
Only two Oreos. Stale, of course. Bad
for you, say. Eat them and the cheddar
with all the fat. Scarf down crackers
made of salt and cholesterol. Love those
trans-fats. Whatever the devil they are.
Get you through the night, Sinatra said.
Died, right? Been a long time? Blue
Eyes right. So many dead, so many out
of it, your turn coming. The woman stops
herself from thinking fast. Prowls back
to bed, mumbles a few prayers, tells herself
Go to sleep. Five minutes later, she's up.
Slips into the slides she uses as slippers,
limps to the bathroom, pees, wipes, gets up.
Then she makes a mistake. She looks
in the mirror. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
The woman aims bent and thin bones
around shadows, wanting
and not to prowl.
(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2008 -- A l l Rights Reserved
